


Ginger Beard

by Lilmizzhugable13



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Beverly Marsh Loves Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Beverly is a fucking angel, F/M, Gay Richie Tozier, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Exploration, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Minor Connor Bowers/Richie Tozier, Multi, Myra plays a super minor roll and literally never actually appears, No Smut, Poor Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier-centric, Richie toizer's mom is shitty, Sexual Abuse, Sexuality Crisis, absolutely will change the title at some point, adding tags as I go, again no SMUT, fuck Bev's dad, not explicit, not in the supernatural-killing-clown-way anyways, obviously her and Eddie aren't married, only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmizzhugable13/pseuds/Lilmizzhugable13
Summary: Freshman year of high school, Richie Toizer decides to confess his feelings for his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak. He soon knows it's a mistake since it only tears apart their friendship. Now Richie's alone, without a best friend to navigate the final four years of schooling and his newfound sexuality.Then comes Beverly Marsh.(Richie/Eddie main pairing, side pairing of Bev/Ben, Richie and Bev are best friends. Please read the notes for trigger warnings)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Connor Bowers/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	1. Freshman Year

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with American schooling, so the years are Freshman (9th grade, first year of high school), Sophomore (10th grade, second year of high school), Junior (11th grade, third year of high school), and Senior (12th grade, last year of school before graduating). We start school during the fall (late August), take a Winter break (late December-early January), start the spring semester (January-late May/early June) with spring break (mid-March). Hope this clears up any confusion!
> 
> Hope y'all like this, and please leave any feedback y'all have! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***
> 
> Pennywise is not a killer clown in this fic, but he does show up as a tiny voice in Richie's head that says the worst things about Richie's sexuality (Bev also hears it, but this is written entirely in Richie's 3rd person pov, so no specifics are given for Bev). I modeled this after my own experiences dealing with internalized homophobia, so it is pretty triggering. Homophobic language is used, and mentions of suicide is used. It doesn't get so bad in this first chapter as Pennywise is only briefly introduced. All of Pennywise's thoughts are written in bold.
> 
> Bev's sexual abuse is briefly introduced in the first chapter with Richie noticing her bruises. No detailed descriptions are given.
> 
> I will write new trigger warnings in front of every chapter. If you feel like I should add more, please just leave a comment and I will add them!
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***

“What the fuck? No.” 

Richie doesn’t stop smiling. He knew what the answer would be, had never tricked himself into thinking otherwise. He knows Eddie’s straight, and even if he wasn’t, Eddie isn’t looking for someone like Richie. A loud, trash-talking joke might pass for a best friend, but as anything else?

Richie knows all of this, but he still asked Eddie in the photobooth of the arcade on the last cold day of February. He has no right to complain, so he keeps his smile, shrugs, and says, “Alright, no need to jizz your pants, Eds,” and throws away the photo strip in the first trash can he sees. 

* * *

As much as it kills Richie, he stops hanging out with Eddie and slowly fades into the background, finding solace in classic vinyls and podcasts and stand-up shows. And soon, it’s a month since he sees Eddie outside of class. It aches, especially since it was Richie who ruined their friendship, but it’s sobering.

Because if it were anyone else, if Richie had confessed and asked out anyone else, he wouldn’t be laying down on his bed, headphones blocking out any sound, existing outside of Derry. No – he’d be icing bruises and bandaging wounds, if they left him alive.

Richie might be oblivious, but he knows how to count his blessings.

* * *

Her name is Beverly Marsh, the new girl who comes near the end of the school year. She has red hair, soft skin, matured features. She’s beautiful.

She’s also sharp, speaking only in criticisms and arguments. She ends up in the principal’s office at the end of the first day for punching Henry Bowers and breaking his nose. They threaten her with suspension and assault charges; she threatens them with a total social media massacre and begs them to press charges so she can tell the jury how Bowers had pushed her up against the side of the building and shoved his hand up her shirt (too bad the school didn’t even bother to hear her side of the story before filling out all that paperwork). It only takes a day, but the entire school knows she will rule the world one day.

It’s no surprise they find each other. 

“So I think you’re the only one who hasn’t hit on me yet,” she says, ignoring the eyes that follow every one of her graceful moves. Of course she would draw attention. She’s sitting at an empty cafeteria table with Richie – loner and trashtalker ( **and fag** a tiny voice whispers in his head). 

“No offense, but Gingers are birthed from the devil and I only live through the word of God,” Richie replies, raising one hand to the sky and placing the other on his chest.

The laugh he gets gives him goosebumps. He forgot how it feels to make someone laugh.

* * *

They sit together every day at the cafeteria table, the same one he and Eddie used to share (Eddie now sits with Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris). And they swim at the quarry like he used to do with Eddie. And they spend too much money at the arcade like he used to with Eddie.

But unlike Eddie, they eat themselves sick at diners and time how long it takes until they throw up. They see a movie when it’s the last possible showing of the film’s run so they can have the theater all to themselves and be as loud as they want. They glam each other up and take as many pretentious selfies they can before uploading none of them.

Beverly is an awe-inspiring person, but she doesn’t fill in the hole Eddie left in Richie’s life, and she doesn’t try to. Bev might not know any of the circumstances that left him sitting alone at that cafeteria table she first saw him, but she doesn’t hold it against him. She just becomes his friend.

And it’s a disgusting chick-flick moment when he realizes that’s all he wants right now.

* * *

It’s Bev’s first summer in Derry. It’s also Richie’s first summer without Eddie. So their first summer together passes with a twinge of sincerity.

Since school is over, Bev is at home more often than not, and it’s on the second Friday of summer that Richie finally notices the bruises. He doesn’t ask her; he’s not _that_ insensitive. Instead, he asks if she wants to stay over at his house for the night. His mother hardly pays attention to him anymore, so when the night extends through the whole summer, it goes without mentioning.

It’s on the fourth Friday that she says, “You never did tell me why you don’t hit on me” and instead of making a joke, he confesses, “I’m kind of in love with someone else” and offers nothing else. Bev doesn’t push it.

The fifth Friday, they head to the quarry only to see that someone’s already there. And that someone has friends. And that someone and their friends are laughing and screaming and having the time of their lives. Without Richie. It’s Bev who grabs his hand and turns around before they’re spotted.

Richie spills his guts on the sixth Friday. They spend the entire weekend in his room, venturing outside only to walk to the nearest McDonalds and steal someone else’s take-out order. He tells her everything, from the day he saw Eddie on the playground when they were five to how they became best friends in middle school to how Richie screwed everything up by letting his dick take over. He tells her about Eddie’s 100 different medications and the spare inhaler Eddie didn’t know Richie always carried (still does, and isn’t _that_ fucking pathetic?) and the way he carved their initials into a bridge when they were both 13. By the end of it, Bev casually mentions she could put Nair in his shampoo if Richie wants, and for the first time in months, Richie tips his head back and laughs so loudly that they’re banned from McDonalds (well, that and someone recognized them as the ones who were stealing the take-out orders)

They spend the eighth Friday talking about the little voice in their heads, the one that pulls on every fear and insecurity. For Bev – slut, food, her father. For Richie – fag, closets, Eddie. They let everything fall out, and they promise each other to never let that little voice (“ **It** ” they name it) ever get the best of them. They swear to be each other’s conductor with a pact that is so cheesy and ridiculous it belongs in a Lifetime movie where one of them murders someone and the other is left harboring the guilt.

Their first summer passes by with both of them dropping their defenses, and when Bev calls Richie her best friend on the ninth Friday, he only smiles and says, “Well duh, who else would it be?”

“Beep beep, Richie.”


	2. Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was gonna upload this every week and like that was a fucking lie but what's new? I'll try uploading as soon as I can, but uni's kicking my ass. I only need next semester to graduate tho, so I'm hanging in there.
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***
> 
> Pennywise is not a killer clown in this fic, but he does show up as a tiny voice in Richie's head that says the worst things about Richie's sexuality (Bev also hears it, but this is written entirely in Richie's 3rd person pov, so no specifics are given for Bev). I modeled this after my own experiences dealing with internalized homophobia, so it is pretty triggering. Homophobic language is used, mentions of suicide is used, and mentions of violence is used. Pennywise is more prominent in this chapter. All of It's language is in bold, so please skip over those paragraphs if any of this might trigger you.
> 
> Bev's sexual abuse is mentioned in this chapter. No detailed descriptions are given; however, the sexual assault procedure in a hospital is briefly mentioned. The aftermath of the assault (Bev's father getting jailed, changed perception from outsiders of Bev's character, the introduction of Bev's aunt, and Bev briefly mentioning It's tauntings about her father) is mentioned.
> 
> Canon plot of Henry carving into Ben happens in this chapter. No detailed descriptions are given.
> 
> Richie gets into a consensual gay sexual relationship. He explores his sexuality more, but he is unhappy with the relationship. Slight BDSM elements, but it is poor BDSM etiquette. No actual smut (cause I'm shit at writing that sorry).
> 
> I will write new trigger warnings in front of every chapter. If you feel like I should add more, please just leave a comment and I will add them!
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” 

Richie has to pause his music. “Bev, honey, sweetie, the ginger devil of my life, I swear to every fucking god in this mess of a world that I just heard you, a straight redhead hottie, ask me, a _fag-_ ”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie.”

“-to be your boyfriend.” 

“Look these boys must’ve gone through a second puberty or something because they suddenly have _so much_ audacity,” Bev says, placing her wet fingernails over Richie’s mouth for him to blow on. He does. “They keep asking me out and I don’t want to deal with the principal again, so breaking their noses isn’t an option anymore.”

“Men are pigs,” Richie says casually, blows out, and then adds, “want me to kill them for you?”

“No, I want you to date me. Come on, be my beard.” 

Richie thinks it over for a couple of blows. He thinks it over a lot, and no surprise, his mind wanders to Eddie. He thinks about how Eddie seems to have moved on easily enough without Richie in his life, filling that ‘best friend’ hole with Bill and Stan.

Then he thinks about Bev. He thinks about her smooth skin and soft hair and bright eyes. He thinks about how light he feels around her. He thinks about how she’s his best friend since Eddie obviously isn’t anymore.

He thinks about how this proposition is as much of a beard for her as it is for him. 

So he sighs, looks up at Bev with the most suave look he can muster, and says, “Under one condition: you can’t fall in love with me.”

“I will try my hardest.” She crosses her heart, grabs his hand, and starts painting his nails. It’s a deep red, the color of ink a couple would use to write their initials in a heart on their lockers and binders. Instead of that basic crap, Bev finishes painting his nails, intertwines their hands, takes a picture, uploads it to her Instagram, and tags him as the other hand. They let her 30,000 followers figure out the rest.

* * *

It’s funny how quickly the word gets around, how Richard Tozier is the lucky dick that Beverly Marsh decides to wet or something like that. Either way, Bev laughs through her words as she tells Richie all the rumors she overheard. And because they’re both instigators, they play up their parts – they hold hands between classes and dramatically let go whenever they have different classes, they exchange love notes with swaks and perfumed scents that are actually just Vine quotes, they kiss in the cafeteria in a passionate performance and make bets on which teacher will separate them first.

It’s fun, just like everything is with Bev.

* * *

“Are you and Beverly dating?” Ben Hanscom asks him one day. He approaches Richie at his locker before lunch when everyone is busy stuffing their shit in their lockers to be first in line. He’s gotten taller since the last time Richie saw him, skinnier too. He’s growing into himself, which is why no one pays attention to Ben now; there’s nothing to make fun of anymore.

“Yes,” Richie answers. It’s the first time he’s confirmed their fake-relationship. It’s not like no one’s asked him, but they piss him off too easily. Ben’s the first one who looks sincere, like he’s genuinely interested in the answer for more than confirming rumors.

“Oh,” Ben says, and the disappointment in his voice settles heavily in Richie’s stomach. “Okay.” 

* * *

“You taste like pizza.”

“Better than beef jerky.”

Richie starts chewing gum in classes.

“Should I start a Tiktok?”

“I will dump you so hard if you do.”

How dare Bev even thinks about desecrating the legacy of Vine.

“Do you think I’d still be hot if I pull a Britney?”

“Correction: WE’D still be hot if we pull a Britney.”

Bev ends up chickening out from the buzzcut, but she settles for a Molly Ringwald haircut that brings out the worst of Richie’s bad-80’s-porno-hair-pulling jokes. Richie immediately regrets cutting his hair, especially when Bev just laughs and says _you’ll grow into it._

The fuck is that supposed to mean?

* * *

The little bubble they find themselves in pops right as Winter Break comes around.

It’s Friday after school when Richie and Bev see a car outside of his house. Bev’s father is wearing a simple shirt and jeans and looks put together. Richie’s mother certainly seems to think so, laughing about something he says. She puts her hand on his shoulder and slowly trails it down his bicep just when they round the corner. He notices them first, and Richie has to stop himself from grabbing Bev and running away.

“If you don’t call me in 20 minutes, I will call the police.”

“Beep bee-”

“No, I’m fucking serious Beverly.”

“So am I, Richard.” She hugs him, arms circling around his thin waist. She kisses his cheek, whispers, “I’ll be fine,” and gets into the car.

He spends the whole afternoon in his room, earphones jammed as deep into his ear as they possibly can. He plays indie pop music, Bev’s music that he loves to shit on whenever he can. (“The Beatles, David Bowie, Queen. _That’s_ real music.” “Okay boomer.”) The playlist is 16 hours long, and even though the music grates his ears, he doesn’t skip a track. They help him think, or not think, or at least keep his headache so severe that he remains on his bed. He can’t even open his eyes, a white pain settling behind them that prevents him from opening them and looking at the clock.

The afternoon passes. Then the evening. Then the night. It’s not until three in the morning that the music on his phone stops, interrupted by a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rich.” His heart stops when he hears Bev’s voice. Just as Richie opens his mouth, Bev continues, “Shut up. I need you to come down to the hospital.”

“Bev what the fuck happened?”

“Just come please.”

He does, and he spends the entire night holding her hand as she’s taken from room to room for exam after exam. It’s the first time he sees her cry, and he doesn’t want to remember the last time his heart hurt this much.

_“What the fuck? No.”_

He doesn’t give that a fucking second of his time. This isn’t about him.

* * *

The spring semester starts in scandal.

 _Man arrested for sexually assaulting teenage daughter,_ the headline reads _._ They never mention her name, but the mugshot of her dad is enough for Bev to be branded by the town. Suddenly, she’s not a force of nature – she’s a victim, a poor child who didn’t know how to ask for help so she acted out.

It pisses Bev off, especially since the news story leaves out how Bev smashed a toilet cover over his head. It just makes Richie love her even more.

* * *

“I mean can you believe it? I’d go my entire life not knowing I had an Aunt?” Bev rants as she shakes the water out of her hair. It’s the first day of spring, so they decided to spend the afternoon in the quarry right before Bev’s secret relative arrives in Derry. Bev takes her time drying off, sunbathing for majority of their time while Richie flounders around. It’s a game: how big of a splash can he make with inconspicuous movements before Bev yells at him. He’s winning, he thinks. Or maybe there’s no winner. Does that stop Richie? No chance in hell.

“Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, ginger crotch.”

“Mention my crotch again and you’ll be shooting blanks.”

“But how will we have children, ginger pubes?” This sends Richie on a tangent as they their walk back to town, going on about how empty their two-story house will be without the sound of children laughing. A round table of eight completely empty because the two will be obsessed with their jobs and never share meals. “Michael and Sarah from next door will invite us to swing, Beverly, and we’ll say yes because our marriage is crumbling and this’ll be our last ditch effort to save it. Do you really wanna be divorced at 26?”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t murder you for your life insurance, Richie.”

“Oh I wouldn’t assume; I’d _know_. Which is why I’d leave everything to Michael.”

“What about Sarah?”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t start a secret affair with her right after my death.”

“Not after, _before_.”

 _“Just because you lost a few pounds doesn’t mean you’re not a fatfuck.”_ And of fucking course, Henry Bowers has to ruin everything.

Through their place in the foliage, Richie can see Henry with his usual gang, all of them high school dropouts which sucked for every soul in Derry because it just means Henry has all the time in the world to terrorize poor souls. Today’s victim is Ben.

It’s clear Ben was on his way to the quarry. He’s wearing swim trunks, and there’s a towel lying on the floor beside him. Henry’s gang has him cornered against a bridge, doing their usual shit, except Ben’s screaming and that raises red flags for Richie. He doesn’t notice the knife until Henry lifts it, blood covering the tip.

“Oh fuck no,” is all Bev whispers before breaking out of the foliage and yelling, “hey Bowers!”

Richie’s fucking sweating, looking around for a stick he can use to at least give them some chance of getting out alive, but just as Richie reaches for a broken branch, Henry falls to his knees. His gang step away from Ben, and before Richie knows it, the three of them are running.

“You fucking better watch yourselves, losers!” is the last thing they hear, and it’s the first thing Richie latches onto, even as they make their way back to the quarry. It’s an unconscious decision, but it’s one that guarantees distance between them and Bowers. They stop right on the tree line and sit on a rock, but Richie never stops talking.

“Losers? For fucks sake, I haven’t been called a ‘loser’ since kindergarten. Is that all we’re worth? He can’t use his last two brain cells to come up with something that’ll hurt more. Like the least he can do is call me a freak and you a slut and you a fatso or something. I mean, _that’s_ lazy. ‘Loser’ is just fucking sad.”

“Beep beep, Rich. You’re scaring Ben,” Bev says. She’s kneeling next to Ben, pressing her overshirt into his wound. It looks like Henry was able to get an ‘H’ before he was interrupted.

Ben laughs, looks at Bev, and says, “No, it’s alright. Eddie said you talk a lot.”

For a long while, Richie doesn’t hear anything else besides a ringing in his ear, and when he finally notices Bev’s calling his name, he hears voices coming from the woods calling Ben’s name. Not Henry, but there’s one that sounds familiar.

And once again, Bev saves the day. “Shit, Richie, we gotta go.” She doesn’t even give him a second to register the words before she’s grabbing his hand and dragging him to town. “Those are your friends, right? Alright, see ya around, loser!”

* * *

Richie throws himself on his bed as soon as he gets to his house. Bev is meeting her aunt on the opposite side of the town which he doesn’t have a problem with, but it was so fucking hard holding himself together as he dropped her off and walked home. He had to stop in so many alleys because he swore he was going to break down right then and there, and he’d rather be a complete mess without an audience. Agoraphilia isn’t one of his kinks.

He doesn’t know how long he spends crying by himself, but it’s completely dark when Bev walks into his room.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

Bev sighs, rubbing his chest. “No you’re not, Rich.”

“I’m a fucking dildo, Bev. Of course he’s gonna tell people about the time a fucking fag asked him out-”

“Beep beep.”

“-I mean, it’s probably his go-to story. _‘Hey, have I told you about how my ex best friend turned out to be gay and asked me out? Fucking gross I know.’_ Probably the first story he told them, probably still laugh about it. Ben’s probably thinking, _‘yeah, Henry Bowers’s trying to kill me, but at least I’m not a fucking fag like Richie.’_ He’s probably taking a long ass shower right now to wash the fag off him-”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. That’s It talking.”

“Let It fucking talk! It’s fucking right!”

Bev’s silent for a minute before whispering out, “So was It right about me?”

Richie groans, pulls at his hair. “That’s different, Beverly, and you fucking know it. You didn’t choose to get abused by your dad.”

“You didn’t choose to be gay, either. Sexuality isn’t a choice.”

“Yeah, you say that cause you read it on some woke article on facebook, but give me a fucking break Bev. I chose to fuck all my shit up. It’s all my fault, and it’s always been my fault since the fucking beginning because I’m so fucked up in the head that I can’t be normal in anything. I can’t fucking shut up, can’t stay fucking still, can’t learn for shit, can’t listen for shit, and now I can’t fuck the right gender.”

“Richie-”

“God just _shut up_ Bev and let me have this. Please.”

She doesn’t say anything; she just gets on the bed, hugs his back, and matches his breaths. She’s a great jetpack, but she feels all wrong. Too soft, too gentle. Even her scent is wrong. Even though he loves the green-apple shampoo she uses, he’s craving the sterile scent of the Lysol Eddie’s mother drenches him in when he leaves the house.

“Okay. I’ll shut up, but you’re gonna shut up too. We’re both gonna shut up, close our eyes, and sleep. We’re gonna sleep in and skip school tomorrow. We’re gonna spend the entire weekend in here, recharge, and then have a conversation about this Monday. You’re gonna listen to me and I’m gonna listen to you and we’ll settle this and then we’ll go back to school Tuesday.”

The lullaby she hums eventually puts him to sleep, but his mind continues racing with ideas of what Eddie tells his new friends about him. He wakes up at five from a nightmare, one where Eddie has Bill and Stanley hold Richie down while Ben carves _fag_ into his chest. His crying wakes Bev, and neither can sleep after that.

* * *

Ben starts hanging out with them every now and then. Sometimes he sits with them for lunch, other times they only see him in the hallways, other times they run into his jogging route through town. It’s a little awkward on Richie’s part, but whatever bullshit he’s projecting, Bev covers up. Ben doesn’t mention Eddie again.

And it’s okay. They have fun. Ben’s an interesting person, mind full of interesting facts and observations about buildings of all things. He likes architecture, that much is obvious, and if he’s being a bit of a showoff, Richie doesn’t call him out for it. Not when he looks at Bev like she hung the moon. It’s sweet, and as soon as they break up, Richie’s gonna push Ben to shoot his shot.

They typically hang out afterschool at the town’s library. The library was always ball-crushing at best when Richie was a kid, but with the three of them passing the day in a secret attic that Ben somehow gets access from the librarian, it’s fun. Richie’s having fun with someone other than Bev.

But he should’ve known better, which is why he has no one to blame but himself when Ben shows up with Bill, Stan, and Eddie at the library one afternoon.

It’s different seeing Eddie again. Not because Eddie looks different (nope he’s still the same skinny dude with a fanny pack that rests on his hips **beep beep richie dont let that fag out** ) but because he immediately goes to Ben. They’re talking about infection of all things, and it almost makes Richie cry. Thankfully, Stanley comes up to him and starts asking him about vinyls. It’s a good distraction, especially when they get into the Bowie v. Prince debate. That takes up most of his attention, enough that when Stan walks to a computer to pull up some conspiracy video, Richie finally notices Eddie’s sitting at the same table.

Eddie stares at Richie, and it’s a bit intense. Maybe it’s because it’s been some time since he’s gotten Eddie’s undivided attention, but Richie doesn’t like it. He feels like he’s being scrutinized, judged-

**well maybe you are you dont think EDDIE’S disgusted by you maybe he’s wondering how long of a shower he has to take to make sure your fucking gayness doesn’t stick on him**

“Hi, Richie,” Eddie says, a bit quieter than Richie’s used to, but Richie’s mind is still reeling that he doesn’t look deeper into it. He knows he’s taking too long to reply, but just like the angel she is, Bev swoops in and saves Richie once again.

“Hi guys!” Bev says, sliding onto Richie’s lap and throwing an arm around his neck. Richie blushes a little, and when Bev presses a kiss onto his neck, he laughs. He’s sensitive around his neck; Bev knows this and only touches his neck whenever she wants him to laugh – which she wants him to right now, apparently. She’s more touchy than usual, but Richie enjoys the intimacy and wraps his hand around her hip to keep her close.

Eddie nods and says, “Hi.” 

Richie looks between them, at the tension that causes Eddie’s stiff shoulders and Bev’s relentless kisses. He’s a bit confused, especially when Bev trails her way from his neck to his mouth. Their lips are connected for a few good seconds before she pulls back. “Stole this new chapstick from the gas station. It’s called Blueberry Acai Blast. You like it?”

_Oh? That’s why?_

Richie licks his lips once, twice, then says, “Tastes like Capri Sun. What type of pretentious bullshit is that? The fuck is acai anyways?”

“Overpriced berries for douchebags.” They laugh, Bev leaning down to rest her head on Richie’s shoulder for a minute. When she pulls back, she’s smiling wildly. She’s radiant.

“Love you,” she says, and Richie replies, “Love you too,” without a second thought. He’s a bit confused by all this, but he’s happy to press a kiss to her cheek. She hums before hopping off him and pulling up her high-waisted shorts. She gives him one last kiss before walking away. To Ben, who’s pretending to read some poetry book but is obviously watching them two.

_Ohhh. Thaaaat’s why._

“She’s nice,” Eddie says, but Richie keeps looking at Bev as she laughs at something Ben says and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s the fucking best,” Richie replies while he yells _YOU CAN DO IT BEV HE FUCKING WORSHIPS YOU_ in his head. Ben will make her so happy.

“Toizer, I found it! Get your uneducated ass over here!” Stan yells.

Richie takes one last look at Bev, sees her completely enthralled in whatever poem Ben’s reading her, and starts walking towards Stan.

* * *

Eddie continues to be a constant presence. At lunch, the six of them sit at Richie and Bev’s table. Eddie doesn’t sit in his old seat. That’s been long occupied by Bev. Any conversation Richie has with Stan or Bill somehow includes Eddie. If the group makes plans after school, Eddie never backs out no matter what they decide to do. If Richie and Bev decide to do something else, Eddie’s the first to tag along (barely beating Ben from that winning spot). For weeks, from the moment Richie walks into school until he goes home with Bev, Eddie is there right by his side.

It would be a little frustrating if Richie isn’t so fucking flattered by it.

**_beep beep richie your fag is showing_ **

The only downside is It. It’s words pop into Richie’s head every now and then, and it’s almost like Eddie’s the one dragging It out. He tells Bev this, and Bev only apologizes to Richie which doesn’t help whatso-fucking-ever, but it’s nice to tell someone. As much as Eddie makes Richie’s heart sing, he also brings out the absolute worst in Richie.

But it’s worth it, Richie decides. He’d forgotten how easy it was to fall in love with Eddie because what’s not to love about him?

For the longest time, Richie is the only one who sees this. Until now, the end of the school year, when Richie sees a text Eddie gets from someone named Myra.

* * *

The summer is hard on Richie. He finds any excuse to avoid group hangouts, pulling out any shitty medical excuse he finds on google. He’s starting to sound like Eddie as the days pass, something he tells Bev as they share a bottle of wine his mother forgot about. “Stop being so melodramatic” she tells him, but it’s so easy to be emotional. Fuck masculinity. Right now, he wants to spend his days falling apart in his room. He wants to eat until his clothes don’t fit him anymore and cry until he’s dehydrated and wallow until his skin rots. He wants to destroy himself.

Of course, Bev doesn’t let him to that. She lets him eat and cry and wallow, but she also forces him to walk around town and drink the recommended eight glasses of water and keep up with his hygiene. She’s the best person in his life.

The summer is hard, easier with Bev by his side, but of course, she’s not always by his side.

Mid-June, she leaves for Portland. Her aunt wants her to spend the summer there, get used to the city and start thinking of her life there after high school. Richie gets it, he does, but they’re barely juniors. They still have two years to go. They don’t need to worry about shit like that yet. They still have time.

“You can’t keep avoiding him,” Bev tells him during one of their many phone calls. Richie’s walking around his neighborhood, keeping an ear out for the sound of bikes on the pavement.

And in true Richie fashion, he childishly replies, “Yes I can,” because he’s a lonely dick and he needs her more than ever. He feels like shit. The guys are great, but he can’t be around Eddie anymore. But he can’t isolate Eddie either. But he also can’t break up the group because Bill and Stan were Eddie’s friends first and Ben will follow Bev wherever she goes (and she will go with Richie). So it’s better for their group to take himself out of the equation.

 ** _might be better for everyone if you take yourself out completely fag-_** He bumps into someone before he can spiral.

Richie registers the features in parts. First is curly blonde hair, still cut in the same style Richie remembers all those years ago. Then there’s skin, smooth and unblemished save for few moles on the cheeks. Lips are still as pink and impossibly full as when they were younger. And finally the eyes, blue and bright and wide, almost as if they recognize him.

“Hey Richie.”

_Oh shit he recognizes him._

“Sorry, I gotta…” he motions to his phone, showing an ongoing call from _Molly Ringwald_ , “…gotta wash my cat,” he finishes before stalking away, Bev’s laughter ringing through the phone.

* * *

Richie sitting in the town square, staring at the statue of Paul Bunyon when he sits next to him. “Hi again,” he says casually, leaning into the bench and resting his foot on his knee. His arms stretch across the back of the bench, his left hand ending just past Richie’s shoulder. Richie makes it a point to not look at it or him. “How’s your cat?”

“My what?” It takes him a minute, but then he remembers yesterday. “Oh, yeah. He’s umm… dead.”

The hand by his shoulder twitches. “Sorry for your loss.”

 _Alright enough of this._ Richie sighs and turns his body to face Connor. “You get I’m lying, right?”

Connor smiles. “Yeah.”

“Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”

The smile fades a bit, but it’s still there, stretching his lips until the creases are smooth. Richie can’t remember how those lips felt. “I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you.” Connor reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. They’re the same brand Bev smokes. “I mean, we had fun when we were kids, right?”

“Sure. The part where you got your cousin to beat me up sucked, but can’t complain about the rest.”

“Sorry about that,” Connor says with a cigarette between his teeth, and the funniest thing is that he _actually_ sounds sorry, even looks sorry as he pulls out a lighter. “He’s not here this summer. His dad sent him to some summer military camp or some other behavior bullshit.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a great idea. Give a fucking psychopath a gun.”

“That’s not what military camp is. It’s more like doing drills, working out, and focusing on-”

“Does it look like I give a shit?” Richie interrupts, fully intending to offend Connor and get him to leave, but instead Connor chuckles, smoke slipping from his closed lips, and _fuck_ that shouldn’t look so hot.

“Fuck off, trashmouth.” It’s so weird hearing it come from Connor’s mouth, or maybe it’s just weird to hear it from someone other than Eddie. It sounds better coming from Eddie.

Richie sighs again, stretching out for a minute before getting up. He notices Connor looking at him, looking at the small patch of skin that shows when his shirt rides up, but he doesn’t call him out on it. It feels nice being objectified like that (doesn’t feel nice setting back the feminist movement by five years). “Look, nice catching up and all, really love pretending I’m in an episode of Skins, but I don’t want anyone seeing us.”

He takes another drag. “Why not?”

“What part of ‘psychotic redneck cousin’ don’t you get?”

“What part of ‘psychotic redneck cousin in military camp’ don’t _you_ get?”

Richie shakes his head. “Piss off, Connor,” he finally says before turning around and walking away.

“He’s gone for the whole summer!” Connor yells at him, “I’m going to Aladdin tomorrow when it opens, if you want to hang out!”

His hands shake when they reach for his phone in his jean pocket, fingers fumble when he taps on Molly Ringwald’s contact. He almost calls his mom instead, and Jesus Christ what a fucking disaster _that_ would’ve been.

He’s not going. He’s not. He’s not gonna fall back into the same mistake he made that summer four years ago.

_but Henry isn’t here-_

No. Fuck off. No.

Bev doesn’t pick up. Shit she’s not picking up. But that’s okay. She’ll call back and she’ll tell him _No_ and Richie will listen. Richie always listens to Bev.

* * *

“You’re paying for every game.”

Connor just shrugs. “As long as you pay for lunch later.”

“Fine. Loser buys dinner.”

* * *

It’s all they do at first – spend the morning at Aladdin, play until noon, get lunch someplace nearby, go back to Aladdin, spend the afternoon playing one game that keeps score, get dinner, and walk back to Aladdin before splitting up.

It’s clear to Richie that Connor didn’t spent any time in arcades after that summer. He’s so bad at every game, but just like when they were twelve, he smiles with every loss, lets Richie gloat, and tries a bit harder the next game. He buys dinner almost every night, and that’s new territory. As kids, they kept their interactions confined in the arcade, pretending the other didn’t exist until they both were at Aladdin. It was fine like that, but now Richie’s questioning if he was really okay with just hanging out at the arcade when he was younger because Connor is a fucking trip when they eat.

He doesn’t get grossed out by Richie’s habit of talking with a mouthful; Connor’s just as gross and loud. Connor also likes playing with food, throwing fries, opened ketchup packets, and anything that’s easy to aim. He aims for Richie’s mouth, shirt opening, and dick – and he makes most of them. They never stop talking throughout, or at least Richie never stops talking and Connor never stops listening. It’s easy to see he’s quiet, a bit withdrawn, but that fits perfectly with Richie.

It’s like Bev’s back (who hasn’t called Richie in three days), except Connor’s a Bowers so Bev easily outranks him in every category. But still, he thinks she would like him. Eddie, too, but Richie hasn’t seen him all summer and hopes it’ll stay that way.

**_you are such a fag sometimes_ **

After a week of arcade games, he invites Connor over to his house to cool down. His mom isn’t home, left a few days ago for some religious retreat, so they stay in the living room. He doesn’t want to take Connor to his room, especially since it’s not only his room but Bev’s too. Besides, they’re just cooling down. It’s fucking hot for July and the arcade’s AC broke down. A marathon of Bubble Bobble just isn’t worth a heatstroke.

So they just sit on the couch, scroll through one of his mom’s ex’s Netflix, and settle on a Shrek marathon. And what do you know, Connor unironically likes Shrek just as much as Richie does, enough to dick around and quote scenes with Richie with no shame. He even sings along to the songs, not only the popular one like _All Star_ and _Hallelujah_ but also _I Need Some Sleep_ and _People Just Ain’t No Good_. He fucking belts out _I Need a Hero_ , and when they find out the American Idol special isn’t on Netflix, they move to YouTube. Which of course leads to them watching all the Shrekislove videos.

Which is how Richie laughs with Connor’s tongue in his mouth when he hears “ _I want to please Shrek_.” And it’s good. It’s fucking exhilarating.

* * *

In the next two weeks, Richie finds out he’s a kinky son of a bitch.

Richie likes it rough, likes teeth and force. He loves getting spanked, but he doesn’t have a daddy kink. Which is weird because of his obvious daddy issues and lack of male role model in his life, but whatever. Calling someone “daddy” while having three fingers up his ass just makes him laugh. He likes bruises and hickies, likes giving them too. He really likes hands for some reason, and Connor has nice hands. Calloused and rough. Connor’s strong too, can easily carry Richie and throw him on the couch and hold him down.

Richie’s really sensitive. He loves the touches and kisses, the feeling of dried saliva and aching muscles. _Your body is starving,_ Connor whispers into his ear once, and it makes sense to Richie. No one’s touched him like this before, and every time he jerks off, he’s always cold and unsatisfied. But Connor’s flushed skin is heated and Richie feels grounded whenever Connor’s on top of him.

Richie also really _really_ loves kissing. He loves the technique behind it, how he finally finds something other than talking to keep his lips moving. Connor’s lips are just as soft as they look, and when they start to get a little more desperate and a little more sloppy, his lips shine beautifully. They always flush with the slightest pressure, and with a few nibbles, they break open. Richie’s lips are the same. This is the only way Richie lets Connor draw blood from him, but only because he likes how his lips pulse at the cut. Besides, it’s a little inside joke between them that goes without mentioning. It doesn’t stop them from laughing.

That’s another thing he likes: they laugh.

It helps that Connor is basically shameless, eager to do whatever the fuck Richie wants to do. He has his own list of things too, and Richie likes a lot of them. Connor’s big thing is rope, so big that he _checks out a book_ from the library about it (see: shameless). Richie’s okay with it. There’s something about it that makes Richie claustrophobic at times, but he likes the burn and the bruises and looking like he just escaped a Jigsaw trap. Connor does too, never giving them time to heal. Instead, he keeps the wounds red and fresh. Richie likes it, likes how sensitive his skin is during this, but he draws the line at cuts. Connor pouts at this. Fucking Bowers, those psychopaths.

But despite everything they’ve done, they haven’t had sex yet. They’ve been working up to it, but it’s almost like another game for them. They start out on level one, rutting into each other fully clothed. As they progress, though, it starts to get harder. They start taking off clothes, abusing each piece of skin before uncovering something else, and before they know it, Connor has a cigarette between his teeth and Richie’s breathing in the smoke. They’re dead before they even reach the boss level, so they have to start over the next time and keep dying by the same enemies.

That’s fine for Richie. He’s not sure if he wants to have sex with Connor anyways, but he’s also not going to say no if they finally make it to that boss level. It’s not Connor; Richie just doesn’t like this arrangement.

They never leave his house anymore. Fuck Aladdin, Connor now comes to Richie’s house and spends the day on the couch getting used to each other. But that’s all they do now. And it’s fine, Richie gets it. He’s just as eager and needy as Connor is, but it’s not until Connor leaves that Richie notices how late it is. How they do nothing but touch and kiss and come. They don’t even talk anymore, not really. Unless it’s a dirty joke or dirty talk, Connor doesn’t wanna hear it. Richie spends most of the time with a bandana gagging him anyways. Connor leaves sometimes to get food, but Richie doesn’t leave because he looks like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting. Even if he wears a turtleneck, there’s no hiding the way he looks thoroughly fucked (even if he’s not being fucked) – and if he were to stand next to Connor who also looks thoroughly fucked (again, no actual fucking occurring), people will figure it out.

So Richie stays in his house, and Connor makes it a game. He leaves Richie tied down, gives Richie a task, and leaves. Where and how he’s tied changes every time, but the task is always the same: stay hard. If he stays hard, Connor will let him cum when he comes back and untie him so he can eat. If he’s half-hard, Connor will play with him until he’s fully hard and makes him cum, but he’ll stay tied and Connor feeds him. If he’s soft, Richie doesn’t get food, not until Connor goes out to dinner and Richie has the opportunity to try again.

He likes the game. Really, he does. Richie thought Connor was a fucking genius when he first suggested it a few days ago, and Richie loved it so much that when Connor came back, he came back to a fresh load of cum on Richie’s stomach. Richie still got to eat.

But he was tired of it after the fourth time. He gets bored, and when he gets bored, his mind wanders. That’s no surprise – the thing is, this arrangement with Connor is bringing out the very worst in him. There are times when he cries around his blindfold. He likes to blame it on the frustration or how tired he feels or how badly he just wants to come, but he knows. He hears It and feels It and sees It during those minutes alone, and just like all the other times, he can’t ignore It. He has to lay on the couch and exist in every insecurity all while some shitpost of a movie plays in the background.

**_what if he never comes back what if he lied and comes back with Henry and they do more than punch you Henry has a knife remember Ben Henry now has a gun remember military camp what if your mom walks in right now and sees you what if it’s Bev what if it’s EDDIE what will he say he’ll probably yell at you and tell you how disgusting you are and you’d like it wouldn’t you because you’re some gay sick son of a bitch that gets off on people hurting you all EDDIE has to do is look at you and you’ll come right now won’t you you repulsive piece of shit_ **

It gets harder and harder to stay hard. He tries, twisting and squirming around to get any type of stimulation. He tries to get his mind to think about other things Connor has done to him that Richie really fucking loves, but even those memories are losing its effect on him. And he cries a bit more because he can’t stay hard which means he won’t get food even though he’s fucking starving. Now, after six days of doing this shit twice a day, he’s fucking miserable.

He doesn’t say anything though because he wants this. He _really_ wants this. He wants to kiss and have sex with a guy. He wants to spend days at the arcade and go out to eat and watch shitty movies. He wants a connection so badly. Bev isn’t enough anymore, he realizes. He loves her with all his heart and soul, but she doesn’t do it for him anymore. Neither does Connor, not with this current arrangement and that bit of Bowers that pops up, but he’s all Richie has.

He doesn’t want this bubble to pop, so he doesn’t complain about staying tied in his house. He doesn’t want anyone fucking this up for him.

* * *

But someone does.

_“What the fuck?”_

And it’s Eddie.

Connor jumps away from Richie completely repulsed, throwing his clothes on like it’ll make him look like he didn’t just have Richie’s dick in his mouth, babbling around for an excuse, “N-no, it’s not… I mean we were just… we weren’t-"

Richie feels bad for him, so he cuts him off and gives him an out, “Chill, Connor. He’s cool, just leave. I’ll text you later.” Richie barely finishes his sentence before Connor’s gone, leaving Richie roped-up and dick-out, still hard and wet. He wiggles in his binds, trying to see if there’s slack anywhere, but his wrist and chest are bound tightly together. He needs Connor to untie him, and since Eddie doesn’t know shit about this (Richie hopes he doesn’t anyways), Richie sighs. “Go find scissors somewhere. Think I got a pair in my room.”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to Richie’s eyes, and god Richie doesn’t wanna know what Eddie’s thinking right now. “What?” Eddie asks, and Richie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Go to my room and get some scissors to cut me out.”

“O-oh okay.”

Fuck Connor. Fuck him. Fuck him and his cousin.

**_why him this is all on you all you had to do was like girls but no instead you couldn’t even get that right maybe EDDIE should bring scissors and cut your throat do the world a favor_ **

Richie takes deep breaths. He’s been crying all day, and it’s finally weighing down on him. He’s thirsty. Hungry. Connor didn’t go for lunch yet. And Jesus Christ this headache.

Eddie comes back with scissors, and he stands as far away as possible when cutting Richie free. It takes some time. The rope is sturdy, the kind that makes a cashier worry about whether or not you’re a serial killer when you buy it at Home Depot, and the scissors are the cheapy ones that go on sale for a quarter at Walmart after school begins, and the number of knots Eddie has to cut to release Richie seem to increase as the time passes. Richie doesn’t remember Connor taking this long to tie him. The fuck is going on?

As soon as the ropes give way, Richie closes his laptop. Fuck Barry Benson and his existential crisis (what’s the opposite of a furry anyways?). He pulls gym shorts on, even though he’s got lube dripping down his thighs and the fabric chaffs his dick, but whatever. Richie stands on unsteady legs. His thighs won’t stop trembling, and his asshole keeps clenching over nothing. Jesus fucking Christ, Richie’s tired. He’s tempted to ignore Eddie and leave this until tomorrow (maybe even next week), but Richie wants to get this over with.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, slowly making his way to the kitchen.

“Are you fucking serious?” Eddie calls from behind him.

“No, I was fucking Connor.”

Eddie doesn’t take the bait. “You’ve been ditching us all summer to…”

So Richie tries again, “Fuck Connor Bowers,” and this time, Eddie hooks on.

“Shut the _fuck_ up Richie! For once in your fucking life, just _shut up_!” Eddie’s clearly embarrassed, face flushed in a way that pulls at Richie’s heavy heartstrings, but his eyes are completely hard as he looks straight at Richie, like he didn’t just see Richie tied up and almost coming into another dude’s mouth with The Bee Movie playing in the background. Any other time Richie would’ve teased him, because _godfuckingdamnit_ he looks so fucking cute.

**_settle down richie don’t want him to see the fag in you_ **

“I can’t believe you…” Eddie takes out his inhaler, takes a puff, and Richie takes advantage of that break.

“What? That I’d hook up with a guy? Does that gross you out?”

“Fuck off, Toizer.” But Richie can’t stop talking.

“Also ate him out, let him fuck my face with his cock, and I fucking begged for it. He spanks me, too, sometimes so hard it leaves bruises, and I fucking love it, Eddie. Can you fucking believe that?”

“I can’t believe you’re cheating on Beverly!”

**_oh richie how can you forget about her I thought you cared for her but apparently all it takes is a few fingers shoved in your ass to forget she even exists_ **

“She doesn’t fucking deserve that, you absolute piece of shit!”

**_he’s right you know you are an absolute piece of shit the worst you fucking stupid asshole how the fuck can you call yourself a decent friend if you don’t even remember you’re dating your best friend and you’re technically cheating on her that’s what EDDIE sees he sees you as a lying disgusting queer piece of shit_ **

It takes some effort, but Richie’s able to murmur past It, “Bev knows. God, I’m not cheating on her. She knows all about Connor.” Which is a complete fucking lie, and it makes him sick to his stomach.

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

**_of course he doesn’t he just saw you with connor BOWERS_ **

Richie makes it to the kitchen sink, grips the edge a bit as he tries to control his breathing. If Bev was here, she’d hold a hand over his mouth, put one of Richie’s hands to her chest, and tell him to match her breathing. But fuck she isn’t here. Where is she?

“For fuck’s sake, you can go ahead and tell her. I’m not hiding it from her,” Richie forces through the knot in his throat.

**_except you are aren’tcha richie Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know Bev doesn’t know_ **

“But… but you two… why would she…?”

“I’m not gonna explain our relationship, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” Richie waves him off, reaching for a glass in the cabinet. “Why not?” Richie turns the faucet on, fills his glass to the top, turns around, and looks Eddie in the eyes before gulping the entire glass down. It’s fucking stupid, especially when the water settles heavily in his stomach and nauseates him further, but he doesn’t wanna talk to Eddie. Not about Bev or Connor or anything really.

He leaves the glass in the sink and reaches for a hand towel. He runs it underneath the water, cold because he needs something to focus on, and starts wiping – stomach, chest, armpits, neck, anything that starts feeling sticky or rough or gross. Eddie still doesn’t leave, not even when Richie bends down to wipe his thighs.

**_what the fuck do you think that towel will do you need a shower do you think EDDIE can smell the sweat and cum he’s not even breathing through his nose that’s how disgusting you are_ **

“Why did you stopped hanging out with me last year?” Eddie tries.

Richie snorts. “ _I_ stopped hanging out with _you_? Is that how you’re remembering it, Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me-” he stops himself, takes a breath, and says, “you were the one who never left your house. You told your mom you didn’t want to see me.”

“That’s cause you kept looking at me like you were afraid I was gonna ask you out again!” Richie shouts because that’s really what it comes down to. Richie’s not upset at Eddie finding out he’s gay or he said no when Richie asked him out. It’s how Eddie reacted afterwards – how he flinched away from every touch, how he refused to hang out at any private place, how he looked at Richie but didn’t _see_ him.

**_EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU EDDIE’S AFRIAD OF YOU_ **

Richie looks down, tries to think of a reason to end this conversation. He doesn’t want to have it. He doesn’t wanna hear Eddie tell him It is right about everything, especially since Bev isn’t here. Jesus fucking Christ where the fuck is Bev? Why hasn’t she called him?

Eddie clears his throat, and it almost makes Richie do the same. This fucking knot in Richie’s throat is a pain in the ass, but he’s afraid that if he moves, then the tears in his eyes will fall. And fuck Richie might be gay, but there’s no way he’s gonna cry in front of Eddie.

“Richie,” Eddie starts, “I don’t give a shit about,” he moves his hands around, motioning Richie’s body, and isn’t that the vaguest shit Richie’s ever seen. That’s some great overthinking-in-the-middle-of-the-night-with-Elliott-Smith-playing-in-the-background material. “I just don’t want you to get killed by Henry when you get caught.”

“He’s at military school or some bullshit like that. Gone for the whole summer. Connor’s gonna be gone by then.”

“No wonder we haven’t seen him. We all thought he finally went to jail for something.” Richie hums. “Still, you’re not careful enough, Richie. You’re lucky I walked in and not your mom.” Richie snorts and looks at Eddie, looks at him lingering in the kitchen doorway with that concerned face he has whenever Richie does something mildly stupid. Fuck he misses that face, but Richie can’t appreciate it because Eddie’s serious – bringing up his mom like she’s actually gonna walk in any moment, like she’s not hundreds of miles away trying to save the world by asking people if they have five minutes to talk about the Lord and Savior. It baffles him for a minute, wondering how Eddie can forget about his mom leaving Richie alone again, and then it dawns on him: he never told Eddie.

He probably looks confused as fuck because Eddie’s concern only deepens. “What?” he asks, and Richie only shakes his head.

“Nothing. S’just weird you don’t know what’s going on.” Eddie’s eyebrows are really full when they furrow, Richie notices.

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” _Not mine_ , Richie thinks, and it pisses him off a bit that Eddie _still_ doesn’t get that. “You can tell me now.”

And he almost does. He almost spills his guts to him, telling Eddie how shitty he felt after they separated. How fucking miserable he was alone with his thoughts and It. How he’s not really dating Bev, that they’ve been lying to everyone for over a year and will keep lying until they both leave Derry. How shitty his mom has been, choosing to leave the house any chance she gets just to find some purpose for her life other than being a single mother. How it’s mostly his fault because he also leaves the house just as much as she does. How touch-starved and needy he’s been the past years. How Connor tastes and feels and sounds. How it’s all wrong because he isn’t Eddie. How hopelessly in love he still is with Eddie, even after almost two years of him pretending to date someone else and weeks of hooking up with someone else. The words are all on the tip of his tongue, banging on his teeth to let them out, but all that breaks through is, “I don’t trust you. Sounds really shitty, but I don’t anymore. Not like back then.”

“You’re right. It does sound shitty.”

And how fucking hypocritical is that? “It’s not like you tell me shit either. How’s Myra, by the way?”

Eddie takes a step back. “How do you know about that?”

Richie shrugs and faces the sink. “You’re not careful either, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Just fucking leave! What are you still doing here anyways?”

“God I don’t fucking know!”

It’s a slap to the face, especially when Eddie leaves Richie alone in the kitchen, but Richie can’t stop himself from reaching into his shorts. It only takes _one two three_ tugs before he comes. His head is in the sink, free hand is gripping the edge, and he can’t bring himself to look up. There’s a mirror there, and he doesn't wanna see how fucking disgusting he looks.

**so disgusting Richie honestly no wonder EDDIE left if only he knew how you jerked off to the shame of being caught and not just by anyone but EDDIE he already thinks you’re cheating on Bev imagine how disappointed he’ll be when he finds out**

God, he needs Bev back.

* * *

Richie wakes up the next morning to a text from Connor.

_Henry’s here, got kicked for sending someone to the hospital._

Bubble – popped.

Cherry – intact.

* * *

Richie’s laying on his bed, molting for the past two days. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink anything besides coffee, and completely disregards his hygiene. It’s almost four in the morning when his phone rings.

“Do you wanna tell me why I got a 911 text from Ben to check up on you?”

“Do you wanna tell me why Benny’s texting you so late at night? Should I be worried?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Answer my calls next time.” Yeah, Richie’s being a little shit, but he’s hurt, and his coping mechanism is acting out by placing the blame on someone else.

“My phone broke. I’m barely catching up. Don’t be shitty.” But of course Bev doesn’t give him that chance. Like always, Bev calls him out on his bullshit, and _holy shit_ he can’t believe how badly he’s missed that.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately blurts out, feeling like absolute crap for even thinking that Bev would abandon him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Richie. Beep beep,” she says, giving him a chance to stop apologizing and catch his breath. He doesn’t even realize he’s hyperventilating, not until Bev tells him to match her breaths. It takes a while, but he finally feels the relief he’s supposed to feel now that Bev’s there.

“Alright, I’m good.”

“Good. Now, do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” He does. He tells her about how he keeps avoiding the guys because he couldn’t face Eddie and how he was ready to let It take him down again before he bumped into Connor. He tells her about Connor and the past weeks and their brief friendship three years ago. He doesn’t tell her what Connor did all those years ago, though, because it’s not an issue anymore.

“I’m looking him up,” she says, and after a minute, she comments, “He’s cute.”

Richie laughs. “Yeah, he is.”

**_but he shouldn’t be he’s not as cute as Eddie god you’re such a queer here comes Henry but with a knife this time wonder what the guys will say careful don’t want your mom knowing Ben’s still washing the fa-_ **

“You know I don’t give a shit who you hook up with,” Bev says, “but we’re still dating, remember?”

Richie nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

“If you wanna break up and date someone else, I’m alright with that.”

“Ugh, as if I’d dump you for Connor.”

“Then why did you do this, Richie?”

Why _did_ he do this?

He doesn’t fucking know. He’s spent the last two days (and the whole fucking summer if he’s being honest) wondering about it. His mind isn’t great at thinking, though, and no matter how hard he tries to unravel this mystery, his mind always goes back to this one summer in middle school when he got a really bad sunburn from spending all day at the quarry with Eddie. It hurt like hell and Eddie wouldn’t shut up about it, but there was this one night where he slept without a shirt on and a breeze came in through his opened window and brushed against his back. It hurt, but it was so good. And he felt that same sensation every time Connor laughed at something Richie said and the cigarette smoke hit Richie’s face.

“Because it feels nice. That he still wants me.”

It’s quiet for a minute. “I get it,” she finally sighs, and the air seems easier to breathe in. “Just be safe, Richie. I miss you.”

“Ew dude. That’s so gay.”

“I don’t even know why I try with you.”

* * *

It takes another week before Richie can jump on Bev.

“Hope you got enough sun in Portland cause you’re never leaving this room again.”

She laughs, and fuck he’s missed hearing that so much. “Sorry Rich, I already made plans with my aunt for winter break.”

“You stupid bitch. You really want me to burn my life down, don’t you?”

“I really don’t know how anyone thinks you’re straight when you’re this dramatic.” She pulls back from his hug. “Just let me shower. I wanna be clean when you catch me up with what I missed.”

She has a bit of a tan, more freckles, her hair’s lighter, but her smile, her eyes, and her soul shine the same. She’s still the same, even if he’s not. Thank fuck.


End file.
